


The Final Problem

by harlequinpictures



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequinpictures/pseuds/harlequinpictures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock reunites with John, but says nothing. He is silent and grim. In one second, James Moriarty's Final Problem is solved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Final Problem

You are John Watson. You are sitting in an easy chair in your cluttered flat located at 221B Baker Street at 9:07 in the morning. There are newspapers strewn about the floor, all pertaining to the recent suicide of the famous consulting detective and your best friend, Sherlock Holmes. You suddenly begin to remember those feelings: the relief at seeing Sherlock again, the confusion as to why he was standing on top of a hospital, the shock and denial when he told you that he was a fraud, the mounting terror when he said goodbye, and then...nothing. Now, when you consider it, you wonder why you didn't feel horrified or crushed when he hit the ground. In fact, you didn't feel anything at all. Just this emptiness, suddenly wondering what the specials were at Speedy's Diner. The entirety of the event had no sense. You vaguely remember yourself slowly floating over to the spot where your best friend lay, pushing your way through the police barrier. The world in sepia, rushing past in a blur as you somehow appeared at the funeral. Then, the cemetery. Talking to a black marble stone with his name on it. And...now you're here. The week moved. It does tend to do that, right? It's Friday now, about a week since the incident. You consistently are forced to remind yourself that Sherlock is not about to walk through the door, that the chair across from you is never going to hold him again. But you can't bring yourself to accept the situation. Mrs. Hudson is in the doorway. She is going to bring you tea.  
"Peppermint, two sugars, milk. Just bring the kettle," you say passively.  
"John..." she whispers. It takes you a moment to realise that her voice is shaking. "There's someone here to see you"  
"I'm don't want to see anyone." You reply curtly.  
"John..." she says again. You turn around sharply and shout, "I don't want to see anyone!" It is only then that you see she is weeping. You stand up and go to her. "Mrs. Hudson," you say, concerned, "What is it?" She does not respond. Instead, she rushes downstairs. You sit back down in your chair. What the hell was that about? You hear the door opening downstairs. Oh no, it's your therapist again. I should fire her, you think to yourself. You get up and walk back to the door, just as it begins to swing open. "Mrs. Hudson, I said I didn't want to see any-"  
You stop.  
There is someone in the doorway.  
It is not your therapist.  
Neither is it Mrs. Hudson.  
You simply stare at the figure in front of you.  
It should not be there.  
It cannot be there.  
You go and sit down in your chair.  
The figure walks in without saying a word, sitting in the chair across from you.  
You pour a cup of tea for the figure.  
Your vision is clouded.  
You are standing on the street corner facing the hospital again.  
No, you are in your chair.  
The figure does not move.  
A million, billion things to say rush through your mind, but only one of them is released from your lips.

 

"Hello," you say.

 

"Hello," says Sherlock Holmes.

 

An entirety of memories of running, fighting, laughing, crying, scolding, and loving a best friend come flooding back in an instant. You immediately begin to cry. You expect Sherlock to comfort you, but he does not. Instead, he just sits there. Not moving. No...that's not entirely true. He is moving. He is reaching into his pocket. You are confused but you don't care. You're best friend is back. You don't know how and, honestly, you don't want to know. But now he has retrieved the object from his pocket. He is holding it out to you. But you do not care. You get up and hug him, holding onto him for dear life because you never want to lose him again. Sherlock does not move. Instead, he simply stares at you, still holding out the object. You sit back confused. Sherlock finally speaks again. He says "I love you." You are flooded with a sea of happiness as you finally look at what he is handing you...or pointing at you. It is a piece of black metal: a gun. He looks into your eyes, crying.  
You say, "I love you t-"  
There is a bang.  
You feel nothing.  
Your vision goes white.  
You feel cold.  
There is a sensation of floating pressure.  
There is nothing.  
There is nothing.


End file.
